Libya - The Rise and Fall of Qaddafi

by Alison Pargeter

  Yet for all his confidence, Qaddafi had to factor another element into his calculations about how to respond to the crisis on the ground. How would the West react and would it intervene to assist the uprising? For a man who had been paranoid for almost all his life that the West was out to get him, this was a difficult thing to weigh up. However, according to those close to the frantic discussions going on in Tripoli at the time, Qaddafi ultimately concluded that it would be difficult for Western nations to embark upon any kind of military action against his Jamahiriyah. With Western troops bogged down in the complexities of Afghanistan, and with the bitter experience of Iraq not far from the surface, the Colonel assumed that Western governments were in no position to launch an assault against his regime. With this in mind, he determined that it was safe for him to go on the counter-offensive. Indeed, the Leader believed that Libyans needed to be shown an iron fist again, and that it was time to deal the rebel forces in the east a crushing blow they would never forget.13

  Such an approach was not unexpected; Qaddafi was not Mubarak or Ben Ali. With his unstinting Bedouin pride and uncompromising self-belief, there was no way the Colonel was going to step aside and walk away from power gracefully – let alone flee the country. He was not simply a head of state – he was the very embodiment of the Jamahiriyah. He was Libya. The Colonel was going to play it tough until the end. He repeatedly declared that he would die in Libya, and few had cause to doubt him.

  More unexpected, however, was Saif Al-Islam's response to the crisis. As the man who had almost single-handedly promoted reform and who had presented himself as the champion of change, this favoured son was expected by many Libyans to step up and take charge of the situation. The reformist camp, in particular, believed that this was Saif Al-Islam's moment and his chance to turn his well-worn promises into reality. As one of those around him at the time explained, ‘We were all waiting for Saif.’14

  Saif Al-Islam was certainly more prepared for events than was his father. Having picked up on the warning signs of the Tunisian experience, he had tried to persuade his father that it was time to wake up to reality. His entreaties did not go down well and resulted in yet another clash between father and son. The fight was sufficiently serious to prompt Saif Al-Islam to storm off to Austria.15 Not that Qaddafi senior was completely unaware of the difficulties: two months prior to the uprisings, the Leader had sent his sons Saadi and Moatassim to visit Abdelsalam Jalloud, who was staying in Paris at the time. According to Jalloud, the Qaddafi boys told him that the government and the revolutionary committees were getting anxious, and that their father wanted him to return to the country to play an important role in what would become the Second Jamahiriyah.16 Indeed, the Colonel seems to have been ruminating over announcing some major changes to his eccentric political system. However, in true Qaddafi style, rather than come up with any real reform that would appease the increasingly restive population, the Leader had taken refuge in yet another reinvention of his revolutionary system.

  While his father was too wrapped up in his own world to fully appreciate the impending dangers, Saif Al-Islam returned from Austria and began holding crisis meetings with his advisors. Seeing their chance, these advisors tried to convince the young Qaddafi that now was the time to act on the promises he had been making for so long. They suggested that he make a speech announcing a raft of reforms that would convince the country that this time he was serious about change.17 However, the young Qaddafi knew what he was up against, and his frustration was palpable. In one such meeting on 16 February, the Leader's son hit the table three times, declaring: ‘My dad doesn't want any reform. He doesn't want to give any concession to the people.’18

  As Saif Al-Islam dithered, events overtook him. While he deliberated over reform, Benghazi was on the march. The young Qaddafi clearly had none of his father's steely will; one of his closest advisors, Abdelmoutleb Al-Houni, recalled going to the young Qaddafi's house on the day Benghazi fell: ‘I found him collapsed.’19 Al-Houni sat with Saif Al-Islam from four in the afternoon until four the following morning, trying to find a way out of the crisis. Eventually Al-Houni convinced the Leader's son that his only option was to make a speech that would be powerful enough to halt the unrest. Quite what Saif Al-Islam could have come up with that would have placated the crowds in the east at this stage is unclear. While the Leader's son had a degree of legitimacy, things had gone way beyond anything he could offer. Change was under way, and in their own minds the people of the east had already moved into the post-Qaddafi era. Yet with no obvious alternative and with the situation in Benghazi worsening by the hour, the Leader's son agreed to make a ground-breaking speech. The next day Al-Houni sat down at home with the NOC chief, Shukri Ghanem, to compose the speech that was to save the day.

  But in the heat of the unfolding events, blood proved thicker than water. Libyans were dumbfounded when, on 20 February, the young Qaddafi went on state television and delivered a blood-curdling address. With a hawkishness not previously seen in the young reformer, an exhausted Saif Al-Islam, dressed in a dark suit, declared: ‘We will fight to the last man and woman and bullet. We will not lose Libya … We will live in Libya and die in Libya.’20 These were words that one might have expected from the Brother Leader, not from the man who had made it his business to champion the people against the excesses of the state. But Saif Al-Islam went on to dismiss the protesters in the most disparaging of tones, accusing them of threatening national unity and of being little more than deranged Islamist militants, bent on establishing Islamic emirates in the east. Given the young Qaddafi's efforts to rehabilitate Islamist prisoners in recent years, these accusations were truly staggering to many Libyans. The people were also stunned by Saif Al-Islam's bid to blame outside forces for the unrest, and by his warnings that the trouble would lead to Western occupation, civil war and the break-up of Libya. The image of the urbane reformer melted away in a single instant, leaving those who had supported Saif Al-Islam feeling wholly cheated. As one of his advisors ruefully acknowledged, the speech was ‘the final chapter in the comedy that was reform’.21 Indeed, it was with this speech that Saif Al-Islam condemned himself to being part of the problem rather than part of the solution to Libya's crisis.22

  It still is not clear exactly what prompted Saif Al-Islam to change course at the last minute and to close ranks with his father. Some of those who were close to him at the time believe that his change of heart was a bid to prove himself to his family. He was coming under sustained attack at this time from his father and his brothers, who accused him of being directly responsible for the crisis.23 His brother Moatassim, the hardnosed younger sibling, had long railed against Saif Al-Islam's reformist ideas, and particularly his bid to rehabilitate Islamist prisoners. As far as Moatassim and (to a lesser extent) his father were concerned, Saif Al-Islam had upset the balance with his ‘Western’ ideas, and now Libya was paying the price. They may have had a point: all those whom Saif Al-Islam had supported in recent years were now leading the charge against the regime. From the families of the Abu Slim massacre victims who had sparked the protests, to the Islamists who had repented, been released and were now among the front lines of the rebel forces, to the reformist technocrats who had surrounded Saif Al-Islam and who were now busy trying to form a government in waiting – they had all come back to haunt the regime with an unrestrained vengeance. Moreover, it was Saif Al-Islam who had encouraged an atmosphere of openness in recent years, giving people the space to express themselves – something that had fostered a certain boldness among the people. Rather than dish out more reform, therefore, Saif Al-Islam was told to forget his ideas and to stand alongside his family and fight to the end. The young Qaddafi chose to obey, pinning his destiny on his family rather than on his country.

  So it was that the Qaddafi family united and focused their efforts on securing the capital. Though a challenge, this was not impossible: the capital was Qaddafi's main power base and it was where many of his security battalions were located.
The Colonel ramped up security measures across the city, erecting blockades and supplying weapons to those who were loyal to his regime. He also tasked his regime stalwarts with arming allied tribes, especially the Qaddadfa, ten thousand of whom were reportedly brought to the capital to help protect it.24 Qaddafi also sought to frighten Tripoli residents into submission, instilling a climate of terror across the city, arresting those suspected of disloyalty and anyone who dared to speak to the international media. The city was on a knife-edge. As one Tripoli resident described matters:

  It was Tripoli like we had never known before – checkpoints, grim faces everywhere, armed kids with green flags around their necks roaming the streets in four-wheel-drive cars with Qaddafi's photos on the doors and windows … Only the extremely brave dared to go out after sunset. Businesses were closed most of the day. At night, silence falls, only the eruption of gunfire can be heard or loud songs glorifying Qaddafi coming from specially equipped vehicles roaming [the] streets.25

  The policy certainly worked. As the east burned with rebellion, residents of the west could only look with a deep sense of uncertainty and foreboding.

  As the regime entrenched itself in the capital, opposition forces in the east set about the daunting task of organizing themselves. The first thing was to set up some kind of interim ruling body. The rebels established the National Transitional Council (NTC), a body of thirty-one members, representing different areas, that was to oversee the country until full liberation was achieved. Below the NTC was a series of local councils set up to run day-to-day affairs in each of the liberated areas. For a country with no real political experience, no properly functioning institutions and no genuine civil society organizations, the speed with which the rebels set up the NTC and went about arranging affairs at the local level was a remarkable achievement. It was all the more extraordinary given that the revolution had not been born out of any organized revolutionary movement or ideological current. This was new territory for all those involved.

  At the helm of the NTC was a group of technocrats who had defected from the regime when the uprising broke out. They included the former justice secretary, Mustafa Abdeljalil, who was appointed head of the NTC; former chief of the National Planning Council, Mahmoud Jibril, who was put in charge of crisis management; and former economy minister, Ali Issawi, who was made responsible for foreign affairs. Given their connections to the Qaddafi regime, this group appeared a curious choice as leaders of the opposition. However, many of them had been part of the reformist current and had, in their own way, tried to challenge the regime from inside. They also had a reputation for not having indulged in the kind of corrupt practices that had made other members of the regime so notorious. For example, Mustafa Abdeljalil, who had been appointed justice secretary by Saif Al-Islam in 2007, memorably (and bravely) offered his resignation at a meeting of the General People's Congress in January 2010, in protest at the security services' continued detention of three hundred ‘rehabilitated’ Islamist prisoners, despite a judicial ruling ordering their release. This move earned him no small degree of respect among Libyans.

  More importantly, however, Abdeljalil was a well-known and well-liked figure in the east. With a reputation for piety and humility, he was appreciated for the fact that he had always resisted the trappings of power, continuing to live in his judge's guesthouse rather than relocating to a villa, and insisting on driving his own modest car even after he was made minister. Like Abdeljalil, Mahmoud Jibril was brought into the political arena by Saif Al-Islam, who, in 2007, appointed him head of the National Planning Council. However, Jibril came to blows with many figures in the regime who considered his reformist ideas too progressive for the likes of Libya. He even clashed with Saif Al-Islam and was removed from his post in 2010. While these figures were certainly part of the system, they had distanced themselves from the excesses of the Qaddafi regime.

  But the main reason why these former regime figures ended up leading the opposition was that there were few other choices. Given the eccentricities of the Jamahiriyah system and the fact that it had been run along the lines of an ‘old boys' club’ for so many years, the pool of qualified personnel with any experience of politics – let alone of governing – was extremely limited. In a land without political parties (to say nothing of trades unions or independent professional bodies), there had been nowhere for budding politicians to cut their teeth. It was for this reason that the NTC ended up being composed mainly of technocrats and professionals, most of whom had been orbiting around Saif Al-Islam's reformist circles.26

  The most pressing – and by far the most daunting – task facing this new body was finishing off the revolution. Hopes that Tripolitanians would take courage and rise up as their eastern counterparts had done were becoming more distant by the day. The rebels were going to have to try to topple the regime themselves. They had little choice but to try to conquer the rest of the country, town by town, until they reached the capital. Yet, for all its enthusiasm, the opposition was militarily weak and its lack of experience was painfully clear. Young men without any military training suddenly found themselves on the front lines in makeshift militias, many holding a gun for the first time. The rebels were also sorely lacking in arms. As one colonel explained, ‘Our problem is weapons. We need them, but we don't have them … Half my men go into battle without a gun.’27 The weapons the rebels did have had largely been raided from military depots or snatched from regime forces and were, for the most part, in a pitiful state.

  Proving the old adage that necessity is the mother of invention, the rebel forces did what they could. DIY weapons workshops sprang up all over the place, and innovative Libyans put their minds to modifying weapons. Pickup trucks were transformed into armoured vehicles, and portable launchers for firing old Russian surface-to-air missiles were cobbled together out of old pieces of drainpipe, the triggers being made from hair dryers.28

  However, this inventiveness was not sufficient to give opposition forces the advantage they needed. Things looked desperate. By mid-March, regime forces had been able to reverse many of the gains made by the opposition. In the east of the country, they had taken back the strategically important oil towns of Ras Lanuf and Brega, and had made progress against Ajdabia. The regime had also reconquered Zawiya and Zawara in the west. Qaddafi and his forces were marching their way back to victory. Worst of all, the regime was on its way to launching a major counter-offensive against Benghazi. Regime forces had got as far as the outskirts of the city and, as they began to close in, it was clear that a major bloodbath was in the offing. On the night of 17 March, Qaddafi gave a chilling radio address: ‘I will finish the battle of Benghazi tonight. I will chase you flat by flat.’29

  Turning the tables

  Qaddafi's confidence was soon to be shattered. Once again, he was to be tripped up by the West. On the night he was poised to retake Benghazi, the United Nations Security Council defied all expectations and voted for the imposition of a no-fly zone over Libya. The Council also voted to authorize the use of military action – including against tanks and heavy artillery on the ground – in order to protect civilians.

  The news came as a shattering blow to the Leader, who had clearly misjudged the West's willingness to intervene. Yet there had been a growing disquiet in some Western capitals about what was unfolding in Libya. For all that the West feared getting itself mired in another part of the Islamic world, there was a sense that something had to be done to prevent Qaddafi from butchering his own in his bid to put down the ‘rats’ that had dared to challenge his Jamahiriyah. Paris and London were particularly keen for the international community to act, seeing an opportunity to support the Arab Spring (and, in the case of the UK's Conservative government, to distance itself from its predecessor's policy of engagement with the Libyan regime). Britain and France, therefore, called on the international community to act by imposing a no-fly zone. They were supported in this by the US, although the Obama administration made it clear from the outset tha
t, while it would take the lead initially, it wanted only a limited role in the campaign.

  Surprisingly enough, the Arab League backed the calls of these Western nations, and on 12 March nine of the League's twenty-two members called on the UN Security Council to impose a no-fly zone in order to protect civilians from air attack. The support of the Arab League was deeply significant for Western nations, which were acutely concerned that an intervention in Libya would be perceived as yet another attempt by neo-colonialist forces to meddle in the Muslim world. The Arab League's decision was significant for Qaddafi, too: could there be a more potent example of the dismal failure of his life-long policy of pan-Arabism? Here were the Colonel's fellow Arab states signing up to what would prove to be his ultimate undoing.

  On 19 March, two days after the UN Security Council voted to impose the no-fly zone, the attacks began. Under the leadership of the United States, French and British planes, supported by other countries in the coalition, flew sorties over Libya. Then, at the end of March, NATO took over responsibility from the US for the enforcement of the no-fly zone and the arms embargo. The opposition was jubilant – the tables had been turned most definitely against the Colonel once again.

  Yet anyone who believed that the threat of international action would force Qaddafi to back down clearly did not know him. Admitting defeat, especially at the hands of his most reviled enemies, was not an option for the proud Bedouin of the desert, who remained as defiant as ever. In some ways, finding himself the West's target once again suited the Leader. After the rapprochement of Libya's rehabilitation, he was able once again to do what he loved best – to rail against Western perfidiousness, but this time with a new urgency. The Colonel certainly made the most of the propaganda opportunities: he warned that the no-fly zone was little more than a prelude to full-scale military intervention, and that Western boots would soon be landing on Libyan soil. Scenes of Qaddafi surrounded by adoring supporters next to the giant golden fist at Bab Al-Aziziya, erected to commemorate the US attacks of 1986, were shown repeatedly on state television. Once again, the message was clear: the Leader was not going anywhere.